


It Followed

by BlueBead



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Doppelganger, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBead/pseuds/BlueBead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wished it would say something, anything. That it would give him some sort of clue as to what it was, as to what it wanted. All it did was follow."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Followed

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thanks to members of the Hyper Light Drifter Skype Group for being my editors on this! I learned a lot!  
> Special shout-out to Handstand! :D

For the umpteenth time, the Drifter looked over his shoulder. His umbral doppelganger still followed, silently moving in step with him. Its blank face was void of all light and color, as if it was some kind of black hole, or perhaps an omission in the Drifter’s senses. While it didn’t flawlessly mirror his movements, it was uncannily close, like it could read his mind and intentions. It walked when he walked, stopped as soon as he stopped, and it never so much as made a sound.

It still unnerved the Drifter thinking about how this doppelganger had just appeared one day. There had been no foreshadowing. Out of nowhere, a feeling of unease and fear clawed through his spine. He hunched forward as his legs grew weak, feeling faint. He watched in awe and disbelief as his very own shadow skittered away between his legs in complete disregard to logic and science.

The Drifter was so dazed and astounded that he almost didn’t notice the soft sounds of boots on lush grass striding up behind him. Instinct kicked in even before the feeling of alarm, and he drew his weapon and whirled around to confront the sneak. It took him longer than it should have to realize that he wasn’t looking into a reflection, and longer still to realize that the abyss he gazed into was where his face should be. In a moment so brief he wasn’t sure he had actually seen it, a fuchsia diamond pattern flickered over the doppelganger’s face. It was the symbol the Drifter had grown to loathe and dread; the same symbol that made up the face of the black specter that made him ill.

Rage, primal fear, and adrenaline boiled like a dangerous cocktail in the Drifter’s veins, and he lunged at the vile thing, sword at the ready. The doppelganger dodged a flurry of swings and tried to keep its distance. The Drifter chased after it, wanting with all his being to make it suffer. Some part of him willed it to be some manifestation of every terrible hallucination or coughing fit he’d ever endured. He wanted it to fight back so he could slash it into pieces, rip it to shreds with his claws if he had to.

The doppelganger kept running and running, never once turning a blade on the Drifter. It could perfectly match the Drifter’s speed, and constantly stayed just out of his reach. Overcome with fatigue and frustration, the Drifter dropped to one knee. He plunged his sword into the dirt, partly out of bitter defeat and partly to give himself something to lean on as his withered lungs burned and begged for air. Looking up, the Drifter expected to see the scapegoat for his anger long gone. Instead, it stood mere meters in front of him, eerily watching with no eyes.

The shadowy doppelganger had followed the Drifter ever since. It never attempted to harm him, and the Drifter yielded to the unspoken ceasefire. At first it felt like it was stalking him, but over time the Drifter began to get used to its presence. It felt more like a clingy kid with little concept of personal space than a hunter. After all, its demeanor and behaviors appeared innocent enough. It did, however, help during fights. It fought with the same dexterity that he did. There were a number of skirmishes that would have typically given the Drifter a run for his money, but the aid of the Shadow tipped the scales in his favor.

The Shadow never once ate or slept. Whenever the Drifter set up camp to rest for the night, it would just sit by the campfire and look up into the stars. Something about it seemed… somber or melancholic. It occurred to him that the shadow had a habit of fussing with the hem of its cloak, just like he did when he was anxious. With a twinge of guilt, he began to lament his initial hostility toward this curious entity.

He wished it would say something, anything. That it would give him some sort of clue as to what it was, as to what it wanted. All it did was follow.

 

* * *

 

A month or so passed, or at least so he thought. The Drifter never kept all that close an eye on a calendar. The Shadow’s company was now commonplace, but the Drifter still didn’t understand much at all about his unusual travelling companion. Regardless, he had the inkling that it would stick with him for a long time. He contemplated what kind of reactions he would get if he returned to Central with what appeared to be some sort of shadowy copy of himself glued to his side. He had given the Shadow simple orders before, and it obeyed, but he wondered if he could convince it to part with him long enough for him to pay a visit to the city.

The Drifter’s idle thoughts were harshly interrupted by shouting as several Western knights leapt out of the bushes and surrounded them. Ambush. He and the Shadow had fought alongside each other so many times that their fights almost felt like choreography. The fact that the Shadow could somehow read his intentions still lingered forebodingly in the back of his mind, but it made them deadly efficient fighters. The Shadow was always there to support him the instant he needed it, but things did not work in reverse.

From the Drifter’s perspective, they were handling the ambush just fine, but his impression of the battle turned on its head when he heard a shrill screeching from behind him. It didn’t sound organic. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard more than anything else, but even that was a stretch. The Drifter hastily felled the most immediate threat to him before hazarding a look over his shoulder. The Shadow was in a defensive stance with its sword diagonal a crossed its body, ready to deflect either vertical or horizontal attacks. One of the knights the Shadow was fighting had run it through with an energy spear, the tip of the weapon still sticking out of its back. Black fluid soaked through the back of its cloak. It wasn’t shiny like blood, nor did it smell like anything. Just like the rest of the Shadow, it was as if the substance absorbed all light that was cast upon it.

Still surrounded on either side, the Drifter scanned for a means of escape. The forest that bordered them was dense and bound to be fraught with wolves, but it was the best shot they had at repositioning. He grabbed the Shadow by the arm, and led it into the thicket. As they ran, the Shadow wrenched the spear from its chest and cast it aside. It carried on unhindered.

The escape worked better than the Drifter expected it to. They had lost the Western knights all together, and they only ran into a few lone wolves along the way.  The Drifter had no idea where they were now, but nonetheless, he was relieved to be mostly unscathed. Except… He looked back at the Shadow. The silhouette of its hand poked out of its cloak, applying pressure to where it had been pierced. The Drifter scrutinized it with a grim expression on his face. They needed to find a safe place to set up camp, he thought. Needing no words, the Shadow understood, and it followed.

 

* * *

 

There was still enough sunlight left to bathe the West in a decent amount of ambient light, but it was fading fast. The craggy rock cliffs cast long shadows that slowly crept over the landscape like sleepy giants, yet the crystals dotting the forest still glimmered with reflected sunlight. A small campfire crackled warmly at the entrance of a shallow cave carved into the side of a steep rock face.

Satisfied that the fire was burning steadily, the Drifter stood and turned to the Shadow. It was ambling around and scanning the horizon for hostiles. It turned to him when he approached, tipping its head to the side inquisitively. The Drifter couldn’t help but let worry crease his brow. Cautiously, he reached his hand out, stopping a short length away from where he knew the Shadow’s injury was. “May I see?”

The Shadow looked down at the Drifter’s hand and paused, contemplating his request. Eventually, it must have decided it was alright, because the Shadow gathered up its cloak and pulled it over its head. Despite having traveled with the Shadow for over a month now, the Drifter never once saw it without its cloak on. It was a small comfort to the Shadow, just like it was to the Drifter, to have something to hide behind. Without the cloak draped over its figure, the Drifter could finally observe how frail and skeletal the Shadow looked. He had assumed that this doppelganger of his was a carbon copy of himself, despite the impossibly dark skin, but now he knew he was wrong.

The Shadow rolled up the bottom of its shirt and pulled it up to its neck. Slightly to the left side of its chest was a diamond shape, pulsing with a deep fuchsia glow to the rhythm of a heartbeat. Its “heart” looked so implausibly deep in the Shadow’s chest that it was as if its very being was a gateway to some ominous, dark abyss. It wasn’t until the Drifter became slightly lightheaded that he realized he had been holding his breath.

The shadow touched a hand to its chest, and its hand came back with the same black fluid dribbling from its fingertips. Its posture made it seem unfazed, but the Drifter, snapping out of his momentary fixation with its heart, was concerned.

“May I…” he struggled to find the right words, “ _Can_ I help…?”

The shadow shrugged nonchalantly. The Drifter wanted to refute it, for he knew his own tendencies to downplay his injuries. He reached into the pouch on his belt and presented a medkit, but the Shadow held up its hand, palm outwards, and shook its head. It then bowed its head as if to say, _Thanks, but no thank you_.

The Drifter gave it an incredulous gaze, but then he reconsidered. The Shadow did move without flinching or tensing from pain. Perhaps it was telling the truth. Still, its scream when it was impaled echoed in his mind. He pitied it. Yet, in the very beginning when he wanted to annihilate it, that’s the sound it would have made… Recalling the memory made him reflect on how drastically his opinion of the Shadow had changed, and how abhorrent his desire to kill it felt to him now.

A feeling of guilt and regret welled up inside the Drifter, and his eyes burned slightly. As much as he hated it, he always wore his emotions on his sleeve. “I-I’m sorry…” he sputtered.

The Shadow tipped its head again, puzzled. Something about the way it sloped its shoulders made it look compassionate.

“For when I… In the beginning…” the Drifter trailed off. He took in a deep breath and sighed, calming his shaky breathing. He tried to explain, “I was scared and… angry… It’s just… you look so much like-“

_Judgement_ , it spoke without words.

The Drifter startled, flustered and confused. “…Judgement? Is… Is that what it’s called?”

It nodded, and held its hand out to the Drifter. _Together_ , it said.

The Drifter tentatively placed his hand in the Shadow’s. It was cold to the touch, but not unpleasantly so. Its palm was devoid of texture, perfectly smooth. It gently curled its fingers around the Drifter’s and gave his hand a firm shake. The Drifter looked up at its face and, despite the lack of expression, the way it tipped its chin up and straightened its posture gave the Shadow an aura of optimism.

Understanding its meaning, the Drifter smiled and gave an affirmative nod of his head.

The night passed, and for the first time the Drifter felt completely at ease as he slept. Previously, even the Shadow’s presence had kept him on edge, but now it felt like an ever-vigilant sentinel.

The next morning, the Drifter stomped out the lingering embers of the campfire. The two of them gathered up their equipment, and together they continued the hunt for more modules.

The loyal Shadow followed.


End file.
